


Muse

by Anontri



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, I just thought of this idea tbh, M/M, Sherlock is an author, and he wants John to provide him with inspiration, and wanted to see where it would go, and what people would think of it, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-29
Updated: 2018-07-29
Packaged: 2019-06-18 03:02:45
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15476187
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anontri/pseuds/Anontri
Summary: Sherlock Holmes, or more commonly known to the public as 'William Scott', a best selling author and a massive recluse, is searching for inspiration for his next novel, hopefully without getting high while doing so, and stumbles across a man in a cafe, who to anyone else may seem completely ordinary and simple to anyone else, but fascinates Sherlock.The only problem with using him as his muse is that he has never spoken to, or heard of this man. He barely even knows his name.





	Muse

Light glinted through the partially open blinds as the sun rose in the early morning, revealing the state of the desk. Scraps of discarded paper with diagrams, drawings, scribbles of plot lines lay everywhere, and a man whose hair was nothing but a mop of black curls at this stage, grimaced at the intrusion of the unwanted guest. Another night without sleep, another night feeling like he was banging his head against a wall. He was going nowhere, and he needed to be inspired. It was almost to the point where he was about to pick up his bad habits again. People loved his drug-fuelled fantasies, but he knew that once he started it would be difficult to stop again.

 

Sighing, he lazily picked himself off the chair he went to change from his pyjamas into his usual attire before promptly leaving, still pulling on his long coat and scarf as he shouted out to his landlady. He needed to be inspired, he needed to find something to fuel his brain in its boredom. But where could he find inspiration? There was hardly an inspiring landscape in central London. At least, not huge waterfalls or towering mountains kind of inspiring. So instead, he made his way to a small café.

 

The café had indoor and outdoor seating sections. If you sat in the outdoor seating section, you could hear the entire city around you. The passing conversations, the hurried clatter of shoes on the pavement, all of it, and the tables were close enough to hear full length nearby conversations. It was perfect for when the weather was just right. However, despite the weather being fairly decent, he craved the quiet of indoors. You could hear conversations from across the room, and get a firm grasp on the minute details that you couldn’t possibly get from sitting outside.

 

Taking a seat in the far corner of the café, away from the windows to the street outside, he quickly ordered tea and went to quietly observing the people around the café. He had already seen two that piqued interest. The first was a man in his forties, silver hair, dressed professionally with a large coat hanging off the back of his chair. Clearly, he was on his way to work. What caught his interest was that he was reading his book, ‘The Science of Deduction – William Scott’. He had of course had used the pen name ‘William Scott’, he didn’t enjoy the publicity that came with writing several best sellers. But this book was not one of his best sellers, being as ‘dry’ and ‘pretentious’ as the reviews had said. He was surprised anyone had read this book, especially as much as this man. The copy the man was holding was around ten years old and had clearly been read many times, judging from how creased the spine of the book was. This man wasn’t reading that book for fun, nobody read that book fun. Did it have anything to do with his job?

 

Before he could think about it any further, a tall woman, a colleague of the man, collected him and practically dragged him out of the café, muttering something about a murder.

 

An inspector.

 

Sighing, he turned to his second point of interest who, if he was going to be honest, seemed to capture his attention a lot more easily than the first man.

 

A man in his thirties, light brown hair with signs of greying, bright blue eyes. Judging from his hair cut and the way he held himself, a military man. There was a crutch sitting next to him, so he had been injured in war. Opposite him was a blonde woman, his wife, who was far less interesting. She seemed the sort of woman who wanted to settle down and have a simple life with three kids and a Labrador. He supposed it would make sense for a war veteran to want to settle down to something simpler after what they had been through. However, the man wasn’t paying any attention to the woman chatting opposite him, his eyes flickering around the room, looking for a distraction.

 

“Here is your tea, sir”

 

A young woman with brown hair and a nervous smile - Molly according to the name tag - interrupted his trance. She had served him almost every time he came here, and each time something was different her. This time it was her hair. She had put it up in a loose bun off to the side rather than the usual low ponytail.

 

“Thank you”

 

He gave a quick, polite smile, and she hurried back to the counter. Sighing, he turned his attention back to the man and his wife and found the man to be looking straight back at him. He suddenly felt nervous butterflies rise in the pit of his stomach under the man’s gaze. His eyes were so intense and the colour of his eyes was so much more complex than he had given him earlier credit for, they weren’t just ‘blue’. It was too hard to tell what other colours were in his eyes, he was not close enough, but what he would give in that moment to see every colour in that man’s eyes.

 

The moment was over as soon as it started. The man had turned away and finally returned to the dull conversation he was having with his wife.

 

Soon after, the mysterious man left, but not before he noticed that the man stood quite confidently on his leg, as if he had forgotten his injury, he didn’t actually need the crutch, and it was not his leg that had been injured.

 

Now that the man was gone, nobody else here was of any particular interest. Not the elderly couple by the window, not the mother and her child in the centre of the room, not the workers at the café gossiping behind the counter.

 

Sighing he quickly asked for the bill, and it was not surprise when Molly came over to help him. Quickly signing ‘Sherlock Holmes’ onto the receipt and pulling on his long coat, he exited the café, and made his way back to 221B Baker street, back to his books and his computer.

 

If he was to be honest, he didn’t feel anymore inspired than before, but maybe the man from before could eventually inspire him to write something. Maybe William Scott was due to write something a bit new, something a bit different from before. That man was to become his muse.

 

That was, if he saw that man again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly don't know where this is going and don't have a plan for this, I just came up with the idea and wanted to see what people thought of the idea. If people do like it then I guess I'll have to make a plan and continue. Please feel free to point out errors or improvements I can make, I didn't really spend a long time editing this... Just honestly give me any feedback you have, I want to know how this is.  
> Thanks!


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